


Lightly, Tender… My Dream.

by Eilinelithil



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time), Canon Compliant, F/M, First Time, One Shot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 09:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22493995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eilinelithil/pseuds/Eilinelithil
Summary: Between realms, beyond curses, and through the passage of many lost years, Belle and Rumplestiltskin find one another again, and finally act upon their love.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	Lightly, Tender… My Dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Came in right under the wire with this one. Written for the January A Monthly Rumbelling prompt 'Press Lightly' (Song)

Rumplestiltskin wept…

He railed, fists gripping and shaking the bars, feeling the weakness that the magical nature of the cell induced in him, allowing himself the moment of frustration to wash over him; allowing himself a moment to indulge the madness - embrace it.

When was the last time he’d felt the ghost of a touch, her touch. His Belle - lost?

_ He stood at the window. He hadn’t been up here in many years; many  _ many  _ years. The room had been closed and gathering dust, not that he’d know it, not now. His maid had left it spotless and a part of him was angered at that; frustrated. The reflection of all of his feelings had lain in that dust, and now, with it gone, he worried he’d forget, forget himself; the feelings of those small fingers slipping through his in the howling, mocking fury of the portal’s whorl. Its blue light was predominant and reminded him of the one behind it. _

_ The door behind him opened and he watched the reflection of Belle pull up short - startled. _

_ “Rumplestiltskin! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here,” she apologised hurriedly, but sincere. “I was just bringing up fresh linen.” _

_ That he didn’t answer her seemed to spark concern, and she set down the linens from her arms, and came to him at the window. Her hand brushed his as though to get his attention as she looked up at him. She called his name, her voice downy soft, and as distant as the reflection in the darkened window, distant, like the memory as he struggled to remember how to feel. _

_ Her hand slipped, hesitantly, into his, her hand small - like Bae’s - and for a moment, just a precious moment, he squeezed tightly and he knew, no matter how clean the room, she would not allow him to forget. _

Later, he remembered, he would look up at her as she perched on the table, asking to know him, asking about his son, touching him with the feeling again.

The memory faded into the darkness of his solitary cell, and he fell away from the bars; from their biting metal - Iron over hidden, running water, but mostly it was the iron… She was lost to him now, taken from him by her own hand after inhuman tortures at the hands of those that should care for her, should have loved her. Lost to death. And Bae, still lost; lost to a world without magic, and after his Dark Curse was cast, he would be alone… again… with no one to share as he could have shared with Belle.

For a moment he embraced that pain of only having them to hold in his heart, and wondered aloud, “Who will hold  _ me _ ?”

Then, with an insane chuckle, he permitted the Darkness to take hold again, loving it; loving himself as the Dark One, for all the power he’d had, and would have again, He was patient. He would play the long game.

His fall, away from the bars, seemed endless, nothing to catch him, even when he hit the hard dirt floor. He snatched up the parchment from its hiding place, and the quill beside it, guarded by the rats and scurrying insects and reached for the precious, precious ink. His practiced hand writing a word, a name, over and over.  **_Emma, Emma, Emma, Emma, Emma…._ **

* * *

Belle turned away from the mirror, sobbing, feeling his pain. She yearned to wrap her arms around him, hold him, comfort him, but locked in a cell of her own, with only the mirror for her own cold comfort, how could she reach him? But what would she have done had she made it back to the Dark Castle? Innocent in spite of her desires, reticent to touch… In spite of her desires, a stranger to touch.

_ Her breath caught, and her heart and stomach switched places as Rumplestiltskin squeezed her fingers as she hesitantly slipped her hand into his beside the window. They have always been so ‘apart’ before, despite her yearning… despite the number of times she’d caught him watching her when he didn’t know she saw. _

_ What would it be like, she wondered, to reach up with her free hand and try to soothe his obviously troubled brow; run her fingers through his hair and comb the tangles from the wildness of it? _

_ In their reflection in the darkened window pane her gaze drifted to his mouth, his lips, and she felt the heat of a blush rise to color her cheeks. _

_ “Isn’t there work you should be doing?” he snarked, though without the usual heat, and with an almost teasing spark in his eyes. She murmured a hurried, apologetic response and began to move to leave; to turn away and head for the kitchen, but he did not release her hand, and she turned back, a worried query on her face, until he murmured softly, “Thank you, Belle.” _

Later, she remembered, when she returned from town with the un-needed straw, she would come to know, at least a little, the answer to her question… almost at least… as she dared to kiss him and for the briefest of moments he returned her kiss.

The pang of hurt caught her hard, and low. She would never know him now. He couldn’t come to rescue her, caught as he was in the cell that stole his magic; the Dark Curse that Queen Regina so often boasted of as she came to torment Belle almost upon them. 

In sudden frustration she turned and beat her fists against the mirror, spreading spider-web cracks over it, and again, and again until it shattered, its magic throwing out the silvered glass toward her. She raised her hands to protect her face, closing her eyes as a darkness, out of nowhere, swept over her.

Cold… Silence… She woke with a start from a dream that had been anything but. There was a warmth, there was a man; a strange man with green and golden scaled skin and she knew she loved him from the way she cried out at his touch… nothing real. All imagined, so the doctors said as they pressed needles into her arms to speed her to oblivion.

She opened her eyes again. How long had passed? She didn’t know, but she remembered a mirror; breaking the mirror. It felt like more than just seven years bad luck.

The door opened and expecting it would be the nurse, come to either medicate or feed her - the only time she ever saw  _ anyone _ in this place, otherwise left alone, forgotten… lost and not found. She curled up into a ball in the corner of the cell.

“Come with me.”

The voice was male, and strong with promise, and she looked up - did she know this man? Did it matter, when he offered her freedom… hope?

* * *

“Sweetheart… I promise.”

He never thought he’d ever speak that word to her; thought her lost to him, long since dust beneath the soil of Avonlea, so many miles away he couldn’t even mourn her, yet here she was, in his arms. He would give her the world, a simple promise not to kill Regina for all the hurt and heartache she had brought them both was nothing - a simple breath.

Their lips met, and she melted against him. Decades of separation and loss building in the kiss. He wanted more, needed more… needed her. She said she loved him, and the gods knew he loved her, and he wanted, so much, to show her. Her lips parted to his kiss, and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, their tongues tangling together like the threads of their lives.

Then together, though it would have been barely a thought, a moment to apport them both back to the shop, they walked hand in hand through the woods, and back to town. She looked so frail to him, not the vibrant, light filled wonder that she’d been back at the Dark Castle, before he’d foolishly given in to his rage and fear and sent her away.

Couldn’t he have trusted her, even then? What would she have done if she had understood  _ why _ he couldn’t allow her to break his curse and made of him an ordinary man? Should he tell her? Could he tell her now?

* * *

Long hours of walking, of trying to make sense of her heart had led her to one single place, every thought, every objection, every aching beat of her heart had brought her back to Rumple. She loved him… and gods help her she wanted him - all of him - even the parts that belonged to the darkness. She wanted to surrender her love and  _ to _ her love; to give him everything she was. No more separation, never again.

So she went back, and when he tried to send her away - far more gently than the last time - she refused.

“You must leave because, despite what you hope, I’m still a monster,” he said, his face a sorrowing, serious mask.

She smiled, and gently gripped his shoulders as she said, “Don’t you see? That’s exactly the reason I have to stay.”

She kissed him then, tightening her arms around his shoulders, afraid to let him go. There was a moment - just a moment - when she feared he’d put her away again, but it passed as his resolve seemed to melt away with the kiss.

“Take me home,” she murmured against his lips as she pulled away from the kiss for breath, only to begin another, moaning softly with a need she hoped he’d understand. His arms tightened around her, pulling her closer yet, to press lightly to the whole of her, breaking the kiss to whisper against her cheek.

“I could never deny you, my Belle.” His breath was hot against the sudden cold in the swirl of his magic. “Not any more.”

The haze of purple faded and she found herself in a dimly lit bedroom, the only light from the street lamps outside, and even that disappeared as he moved to close the heavy gold and deep red curtains. The drapes matched the bed, she noted, as he flicked on the lamps, then returned to her arms, to draw her to him as she shivered involuntarily.

“Are you…?” he asked softly, nuzzling her softly before pressing his forehead to hers. “Are you certain, Belle?”

“You said it was forever,” she whispered, and felt him pull back, pull away, though his hands tenderly cupped her cheeks to bring her eyes to him.

“Sweetheart, I have  _ long _ since released you from our deal,” he murmured. His voice kindness, but a hint of sorrow and regret still remained.

“Don’t you…?” she swallowed, interrupting herself, “Don’t you want me?”

“Oh, Belle,” pressed his nose to hers as the breath escaped him, as if she had just sucker punched him with the question. Then she felt his lips begin to feather over her, over her lips and her neck as he tipped her head back still further, between the light press of his mouth against her suddenly oversensitive skin he murmured, “I have never wanted anything more than to show you how much you mean to me… how much I want you.”

She moaned softly, beginning to run her hands over his back, exploring his form through the thin silk of his shirt. She felt him shiver at her touch as he took a deep breath between kisses, and she couldn’t help but wonder what was in his mind, in his thoughts. 

“I won’t rush you, Belle,” he told her softly.

“But I want you, Rumple,” she answered. “We have already been apart for  _ far _ too long.”

He whispered, “My fault,” before capturing her mouth with his in a long, deep kiss that turned from the slow, sweet kiss of reunion to one of deep passion and desire as their need for each other increased. His fingers trailed down her back as he lowered the zipper of her dress, and she fumbled with the knot of his tie, the buttons of his shirt as they began, between kisses, to divest themselves and each other of the clothing that frustrated her need to feel his skin against hers.

As though completely attuned, they moved together, each now clothed only in their underwear, to curl around each other on the bed, breathing together, Thoughts and memories washing over them, like a tide, washing away the many years of separation, cleansing them of the lies.

She trembled against him as his fingers explored her sensitive skin, in part from anticipation, and the unfamiliar, and in part with growing need. Her own fingers began a sweet but lazy journey over his shoulders, over his chest, feeling him harden against her hip, and a growing, swollen, tingling ache flared with each touch and each kiss that fell over her body, bathing her in his love for her.

“Rumple!” she gasped, pressing her head back against the pillows, her legs parting to admit his touch against her hot, wet heat, then moaned softly as his touch teased, circling in her wetness, never quite against the place she most needed his touch. “Please…”

“My Belle…” he murmured, rising over her, only to begin kissing downward, over the curves of her breasts, lingering there to to share a maddening feast of sensation and pleasure as his lips, and teeth and tongue worshiped there, tugging her nipples one by one into the hot cave of his mouth until she gave a soft cry and clasped his shoulders, repeating her needful pleas.

* * *

Rumple felt as though he had a fever, his need to be one with Belle almost overwhelming; a sweet kind of madness that he welcomed, and desired to share with his love - a madness of pleasure.

Her fingers clutched at his shoulders as he pleasured her breasts, his fingers teasing where his lips could not. He looked up at her flushed face, his expression softening with love around the hard edges of his desire for her.

She was so beautiful, shining with her inner light again, warming him, reminding him of life, of a time without the darkness; that he was so undeserved.

“Rumple,” she whispered his name as though she could tell, just by his expression, what he was thinking. “...Love me…”

Her voice was soft, deep and husky with his need, and it shot right to his loins, strengthening the ache, making him pulse for her, his risen length twitching against the covers. He kissed lower, down from her breasts, over the flatness of her belly, the bottom of her ribs far too visible as she arched her back. He kissed still further, nuzzling at her with his chin before pressing his mouth to her, his tongue parting her, teasing as his fingers had, her answering cry like music to him.

Her taste was salt and sweet, both together… like the finest honeyed wine, and he moaned against her center, lapping at her wetness, as he slipped one long finger carefully inside her, moaning again as her soft and trembling heat clenched around his touch, pressing only as far as her body would allow before withdrawing again, stroking in and out with first one, and then a second finger until she began to move with him, chase the touch; soft cries escaping her lips as he drew her closer and closer, feeling her already tight walls tighten still further around his fingers.

He closed his lips around the risen nub between her soft folds and suckled between the swirling pass of his tongue, more fervently the closer he sensed she became, until a last her breathless moans became a keening cry and he felt her body clenching, a frantic flutter around his fingers.

He continued to stroke her gently, drinking her down and moaning his own pleasure at the sweetness of her, riding easing her down, until her languid body in the wake of her climax began to coil again in perceptible tension under his touch, and her breathing became ragged, her voice a moan again.

“I want… I need…” she gasped, and he raised his head, releasing her from the touch of his mouth but not from the ever moving glide of his fingers.

“What, sweetheart?” he rumbled softly, “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” she gasped. “...inside me… not holding back.”

He moaned again at her words, moving at her request to cover her and take her in his arms, and he felt her legs fall, then rise to either side of him as she encouraged… invited him on, and he took a moment to adjust himself against her; to coat himself in the juices soaking her, before pressing the blunt head of his risen desire at her entrance.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed, barely moving, barely entering her, the head of him surrounded by her heat, her walls tight around him, still trembling, slightly, in the aftermath of her peak. For all his words he wanted just to sink inside of her, deep inside; needed for her to take him, all of him and make him hers. To be separate any more was a pain deeper than the darkest of curses.

“Take me, Rumple,” she echoed his needs. “Make me yours.”

They moved as one. As he rolled his hips against her, she lifted to meet him, and they came together, one at last, both home. She gasped, a sharp, almost shrill cry as he claimed her innocence, and his kissed away the wetness of the tear that rolled onto her cheek, spilling his own in its place, but she reached up to wipe away his shame, then wrapped him in her arms and held him tightly to her, murmuring and whispering of her love. His name sounded like a prayer on her lips.

“Oh, Belle,” he breathed as they began to move again, like the ocean, rising and falling to each other… tides of love, their desire the moon, its light winding them together, binding them, blinding them as they drew closer and closer to that point of brightness, their bodies now only sensation, only desire, only pleasure.

He moved faster, plunging into her even as she lifted her hips to meet the descent of each possession; possessing  _ him _ until he felt her trembling again, her inner wall squeezing him so tightly it was almost pain, a pleasurable pain.

She cried his name as she burst around him, trembling and squeezing him over and over as her climax pulled him with her into that bright space and he emptied himself inside of her, pulsing to fill her with the heat of his life; to the beat of his heart. They fell back to each other, back to awareness. Spent. Home…

...and Rumple wept.


End file.
